Not Quite Camping
by Mapu
Summary: Don and Charlie take off together but when everything goes wrong they have to look after themselves and each other.
1. Chapter 1

**Not quite camping**

By Mapu

Disclaimer: CBS and the creators of Numb3rs own the rights to the series and characters

Thanks to Angela and Elaine for their work and suggestions without which this would never see the light of day. For my dad, the stick he found me and the wild strawberries that grow on the banks of the Tully river.

--

They stood side by side on the hot, wind-swept tarmac, their bags at their feet waiting for the small government jet to arrive. The younger man could barely stand still, constantly fidgeting and moving his weight from foot to foot. Don was finding his brother's obvious enthusiasm more than a little baffling. The whole thought of this trip was grating on Don's nerves, and Charlie's eagerness was only intensifying his bad mood. His brother behaved as though going to Virginia for the agency conference at Quantico was the most thrilling thing that had happened in months; whereas Don really begrudged the time he would be spending away from his team and the dozen active cases they were working. Unfortunately he had no option, he was required to attend. It had come as a direct order from Merrick, and one Don had been unable to avoid.

The small jet came into view, the high-pitched whine from its powerful and compact engines deepening and fading as it approached and taxied to a stop a short distance away. Don sighed. Sometimes he simply didn't understand Charlie. When he'd first approached the mathematician a week ago about the possibility of presenting a talk to the FBI experts at head office, his brother had been anything but thrilled. In fact he'd seemed almost sullen at the prospect.

Don had called Charlie over to his desk during a break to talk to him about the trip, "Charlie, how would you like to go to Quantico next week, and give a presentation on those equations you used to help us in that counterfeiting case? Head office has a number of their experts interested in talking to you."

Charlie's expression had closed over and Don could tell his brother didn't think much of the idea at all. "Don, I do have other things to do, you know? I have classes, and university commitments, not to mention my own work. I can't just take off and leave because the FBI wants me to."

In the face of the younger man's unforeseen bitterness, Don held up a hand. Charlie's rant subsided but he still looked anything but happy.

"Hey, I know that, okay? We had a request and I just thought I'd ask. If I could get out of going myself I would. It's not a big deal, I can give them the basic outline of how we used it, and they have the work itself. It's fine. I just thought you might like to, that's all. I know how much you enjoy teaching."

"You're going?"

Don looked at the other man in confusion. "Yeah, I have to, Charlie, I'm a team leader and I've been ordered to. This is not something I can avoid, believe me, I tried."

"Oh… okay I'll go. Um, I'll have to get someone to cover for me, how long will we be there?"

"What? I thought you just said you were too busy?"

Charlie didn't respond; he just shrugged and waited for Don's answer. Don knew the shrug was all he'd get from his brother and shook his head. "The conference lasts four days but you don't have to stay the whole time, we could have you there and back in a day, two at the most, if you want."

Charlie shrugged again. "No, that's okay."

The rapid about turn of his decision had taken Don by surprise and, during the following days, he'd half expected Charlie to have another sudden reversal and decide not to come after all, but if anything his brother's anticipation for the trip had built to near frenzied levels. Don wished he had even a small measure of that interest; then the trip might not seem such a waste of his time.

Don hefted his bag and headed for the plane, as the fuselage door swung out and down to form steps, Charlie following close behind him. Before they reached the plane a man in a pilot's uniform stepped out to greet them.

"Agent Don Eppes?" he asked.

Don nodded and shook the offered hand. "Yeah, and this is my brother, Dr. Charles Eppes."

"Paul Rogers."

Charlie shook the pilot's hand, a shy smile on his face. Charlie, who could think rings around almost anyone, always seemed a little awed by people who had high achievements in physically based talents or professions, and a commercial pilot contracted to the FBI definitely fell into that category.

"If you gentlemen are ready we'll be on our way. It would be best if you took the rear seats; there is a military witness in protective custody and his escort already onboard occupying the front row and I think it would be best to leave them a little space."

Don frowned. "Is he dangerous?"

Rogers hesitated for a moment then shrugged. "He's listed as a witness on my manifest, but he's restrained and has an armed escort."

Don cast a glance toward his brother, having a momentary second thought about the flight. Charlie looked mildly curious but not at all concerned, which didn't make Don feel any better; his brother was not the best judge of these types of situations. That had always been Don's responsibility.

Ultimately there was no choice, since he'd never be able to justify the expense to the department for commercial tickets based only on a vague bad feeling. They boarded the aircraft. Don ran a professional eye over the other passengers as they passed. A big man, who was obviously the escort to the thinner man beside him, sat in the first row of seats and glanced up at them calm and confident. The witness gave them a far more interested and intense stare. Don didn't like the speculation he saw in the other's eyes as his gaze focused on Charlie. Both men looked to be older than Don, somewhere in their mid forties but both appeared fit.

With sudden recognition Don realised he knew the thin man. Keith Simmons, the man wasn't just dangerous, he was a killer. Simmons, ex-military himself, had flipped and killed four federal and military personnel before his capture. Don hadn't been directly involved in the case but like most federal agents in the area had kept and interested eye on developments. As he remembered it, Simmons had spouted some kind of anti-government conspiracy rubbish and claimed he was acting for the people. It had ended up with the man given a life sentence. What he was doing on this plane was a mystery. Don's first impulse was to take his brother back off the plane but that wasn't really an option so he made sure Charlie took the seat at the rear of the plane farthest from the secured witness.

As soon as he was settled into his seat, his belt done up, Charlie dug into the bag at his feet and took out his notebook. Within minutes, before the small jet had taxied for take-off, he was totally absorbed in his work. A soft smile curved the edge of Charlie's mouth and his head bent forward slightly as he concentrated on the equations and figures on the paper. Don took out the case reports he'd brought with him, and keeping an eye on the men in front of them settled down. It was going to be a long flight.

--

Charlie, lost in his math, didn't notice anything amiss until Don grabbed the back of his head and forced him forward and down.

"Charlie, stay down," his brother ordered.

Don released him; when Charlie saw his older brother reach under his coat for the gun strapped there he realised he could hear raised voices in the cabin. Lifting his head high enough to see over the seat in front, Charlie understood what had Don so worried. Ahead the witness and his escort stood facing each other, both with guns in their hands. Charlie had no idea how the situation had developed but it looked bad. Don's hand found the back of his head again and pushed it back under cover.

"I said keep down, damn it," Don growled.

This time Charlie did as he was told, his heart beating painfully fast in his chest.

"Simmons, give it up. You got no where to go. Put the gun down now," an unfamiliar voice shouted. Charlie guessed it had to be the escort yelling.

"You put down your weapon or I'll kill us all!"

Charlie couldn't understand how the military escort had let his supposedly restrained prisoner get free, let alone become armed, and he was more relieved than he could express that Don was beside him. Just having Don on the plane allowed Charlie to believe the situation was survivable. He didn't know how he would have handled it had Don not come.

All week Charlie had been worried something would come up that his brother could use as a reason not to go on the trip; leaving him to go alone. Charlie had very little interest in the conference; he was interested in spending a little time with Don. Don's entire life in Virginia, and the years after it, was a closed book to Charlie. He knew nearly nothing about what had happened to his brother during that time. He thought that maybe during the conference Don might feel like showing him around a little, but even if he didn't, they would get to spend time together. It would be just like having a holiday together or at least as close as they had ever come.

Despite the danger and Don's instructions, Charlie couldn't help it; he needed to see what was happening. Raising his head as much as he dared Charlie watched as Don moved carefully forward.

--

Don slowly got to his feet and moved forward with his gun raised, providing the other law enforcement officer backup.

Events transpired rapidly, falling into chaos in moments. Don's movement distracted Simmons and drew his attention away from his escort for a moment. In that split second the guard tried to act, throwing himself toward Simmons. _No! You idiot_, Don thought frantically, as the man made his move. The distance between the two men was far too great for a simple frontal tactic like that to work.

As Don had feared the escort didn't manage to get a complete grip on Simmons. As they fell, Simmons's gun hand swung in a wide arc and the weapon discharged, going through the open cockpit door. Don heard a cry of pain and the co-pilot slumped sideways in his seat. A second bullet followed the first into the cockpit.

From the immediate and disastrous result Don's first thought was that the pilot had been hit too. The jet twisted and fell into a steep dive. He heard the pilot try to radio in a mayday call and was relieved the man was still alive. He began pulling himself backward to find a seat, but it wasn't easy against the plane's steep angle of descent.

--

Charlie yelled in terror as the plane began to fall, his notebook flying from his hands to flutter away. Don, still on his feet in the aisle, clutched at a seat one-handed, trying to keep his feet under him, without losing his weapon from the other hand. It terrified Charlie to see his brother so exposed. Using more strength than Charlie would have thought possible Don pushed himself back until he wedged himself into a seat and fumbled for the restraints.

"Strap yourselves in! We're going down!" their pilot, Paul Rogers, yelled from the cockpit.

Then Charlie could hear him attempting to send out a mayday, but from the anxious tone and repeated calls for a response Charlie was pretty sure the radio was a part of the equipment the gunfire had destroyed.

Don, to Charlie's intense relief, had managed to strap himself into the seat one row in front and across from him. Don turned to face him, fear in his eyes.

"Charlie, get your head down and hold on. Okay, Buddy?"

Nodding, because he could no longer speak past the lump of fear in his throat, Charlie did as he was told. The last time he'd prayed he'd been a child, but he prayed now, for himself, for the others on the plane, for his father, but most especially Charlie prayed for Don.

A solid weight settled over Charlie, crushing him down into his seat, as the pilot began to win the battle against their rate of descent and the jet's path changed, pulling the centre of gravity toward the rear of the plane. The general motion equations, xVox t yVoy t – ½ gt2, and their many derivatives flashed into Charlie's mind, and, unable to help it, he began to calculate the plane's most likely trajectory, guessing at the complementary angles and variables. He'd almost reached a solution when, with a sudden jolt, the plane hit the trees. Metal screamed and tore and his body slammed hard against the restraints, first forward then savagely to the right. Charlie's head hit the wall beside him with a brutal blow and after a blinding instant of white pain there was only darkness.

--

The jet crashed through the treetops taking several violent hits, hard enough to change the direction of travel and jerk Don's body savagely from side to side. Don hoped the impacts were slowing them down as well. Then they were on the ground, sliding through the underbrush, the horrific screeching roar of twisting metal and crack of breaking wood marked their passage. It was a sound that Don knew he would never forget. The plane suddenly stopped its forward momentum and slipped slightly side-wards leaving what was left of the aircraft on a distinct angle. As soon as they stopped moving Don looked over toward his brother. Charlie lay slumped slightly forward in his seat, his unmoving body supported by the wall beside him and his eyes closed. With his face so calm and relaxed Don would have thought the young genius was merely asleep, if he hadn't known better. Dread filled Don's heart as he looked to his brother's calm, still face, and he refused to even consider the thought that Charlie was dead, but it was obvious he was hurt.

Smoke began to fill the cabin and he knew there wasn't much time; the plane was on fire. Fumbling to release his seatbelt, Don knew he had to get to Charlie and get him out before the fire took hold and cut off their escape, but first he had to find out what had happened to the gunman.

Standing without sliding across the sloping deck was difficult, especially with his weapon out, but Don managed to move forward far enough to see what had happened to the others. The front of the plane was gone, totally destroyed, and there was very little doubt in Don's mind that their pilot, Paul Rogers, was dead. Also obviously dead was the escort. The man lay face upward, his eyes open and staring unseeingly at the ceiling.

A slight movement alerted Don to the location of the prisoner and he threw himself back moments before the man fired. Simmons had been seated against the wall with one arm cradled across his lap, his hand obviously broken and useless, but the other hand held a gun. Don swore. The plane could go up at any moment, Charlie was hurt and there really wasn't time for this.

"Simmons, the plane is on fire, we have to get out of here," Don called hoping to reason with the man.

"Just back off, Fed, or I'll kill you."

Don didn't really have a choice. "Okay, I'll move back."

The smoke had thickened ominously by the time Don had backed up far enough that Simmons felt it safe to make a break for it. Don let him go. Charlie was far more important. The fire spread quickly, and Don had no time to check his brother's condition or spend any time being gentle with him. Dragging the limp body across his shoulders in a fireman's carry, Don hefted Charlie's weight and staggered away from the building flames and choking smoke.

By the time he got them clear of the wreckage the plane was totally engulfed. Don moved forward until the radiant heat scorching his back reached a bearable level. Don slipped to the ground, and finally able to extend a measure of consideration toward his injured brother, gently laid Charlie out flat. It was at that moment that he realized Charlie wasn't breathing. Panic gripped his heart and he felt his brother's neck for a pulse. There was one, but it was fading, becoming increasingly erratic. Smoke inhalation, Don realized. Clearing Charlie's airway, tilting the younger man's head back, Don began artificial respiration and tried desperately to overlook the fact that it was his brother's life that hung in the balance.

With a weak cough Charlie began to breathe for himself once more. Don waited anxiously. After a few gasping breaths he began coughing in earnest. The harsh ragged coughs convulsing Charlie's whole body had the benefit of bringing him back to consciousness, and Don was relieved beyond words to see the dark eyes split open and cringe against the brightness of the late afternoon daylight.

"Easy, Charlie… breathe slower, Buddy," Don encouraged and he could tell that the other man was trying to do as he'd asked.

"Hey there, how are you feeling?" Don asked when the breathing settled into a more even rhythm, only disturbed by the occasional cough.

"Headache," Charlie rasped.

Don wasn't surprised. Blood matted the side of his brother's head just above his right temple and an angry bruise had already begun to form on that side.

"Charlie, I need you to look at me for a second. Come on, open your eyes for me."

He sighed with relief to see the pupils were even and reactive to the change in light as they should be. It meant that as bad as the head injury looked it was not life-threatening.

"What's happened, Don?"

The question reminded him that, although they were clear of danger from the plane, Simmons was still unaccounted for. They needed a more secure position to wait for rescue. Don didn't answer his question, not wanting to worry the injured man. Instead he pulled Charlie to his feet and, supporting him, began to lead him toward the nearby trees.

"Come on, Buddy, can't stay here."

Charlie wasn't able to walk far and the best Don could do for cover was to find a freshly fallen tree. From the splintered wood it was most likely brought down in the crash. He helped settle Charlie under the thickest part and pulled himself in next to him. Don took off his jacket and then his cotton shirt. Putting the jacket back on for warmth in the cool mountain air Don began to tear his work shirt into long strips. As soon as he had enough to work with he gently bound the wound on Charlie's head. It only took seconds for the blood to soak through the thin bandages but it seemed to be slowing the flow and it was the best Don could do.

The situation was not great. Daylight was fading fast, Charlie was injured and somewhere in the gathering darkness lurked a madman with a gun. Just when Don thought their circumstances couldn't get much worse it began to rain. What started as a few scattered drops quickly increased to a constant downpour. Within moments the brothers were soaked to the skin, and Don could feel the trembling in the thin body beside him. He moved closer and put his arm around his brother pulling him in so they could share body warmth.

"Don, I'm really tired."

"I know, Buddy, but I need you to stay awake for a little while longer, I'll let you know when it's safe for you to rest. Deal?"

"Yeah, okay… Don?"

"Yeah, Charlie?"

"You didn't tell me what happened," Charlie said, a slight tone of accusation in his voice.

Don sighed. "What do you remember?"

"I remember getting on the plane and somebody yelling, then you telling me to breathe."

"The escort got slack, made a rookie mistake. He released his prisoner to take him for a bathroom break but turned his back on him. The prisoner, a man named Simmons, took his gun and knocked him down, but the guard had a backup gun. We tried to get Simmons to surrender but he started firing instead. He hit something in the cockpit and we crashed."

"Where's everyone else?"

Don really hadn't wanted to tell Charlie this. "Simmons made it out but I'm afraid he's the only other one who did. It's just you and me, Buddy."

To his surprise Charlie took the news far better than he'd expected.

They were quiet for a while. Just as Don had begun to worry that Charlie might have slipped into unconsciousness, he spoke.

"Don, are you afraid?"

Don squeezed the shoulder under his arm; in truth he was terrified. Seeing Charlie on the ground lifeless and not breathing had been the most frightening moment of his life. "Yeah, a little, but it will be all right. I think we might be a little late to the conference."

"Good, sounded boring anyway."

Don frowned. "I thought you were looking forward to it, you've been talking about nothing else all week."

"It wasn't the conference, Don. I never cared about that. I just thought… We've never had a holiday together, just the two of us. I thought it would be fun to see Virginia with you."

Don was touched and a little surprised at the revelation, although it did explain a lot about Charlie's enthusiasm. Thinking about it he realised Charlie was right, they'd never been anywhere together as brothers. He rested his head gently over the top of his brother's head in a hug, being careful of the bandage. "How do you feel about taking an impromptu camping trip?"

Charlie laughed softly. "We forgot to bring marshmallows."

"Buddy, you don't even like 'em… toasted or not."

"No, but I wouldn't mind having the fire." Don felt him shiver again. It was obvious Charlie wasn't doing too well.

"Sorry, Charlie, I doubt I could get one lit and anyway we can't have one. Simmons is still out there somewhere."

"I know. I was just thinking how nice it would be, that's all."

"You'll be all right, Charlie…" Don tried to inject absolute confidence into his voice, a confidence he didn't feel. "… Trust me."

"I do." Charlie muttered.

Don could hear the utter exhaustion in his brother's tone. "It's okay to sleep for a while, Charlie, if you want to. I'll wake you in a few hours."

Don wasn't sure if Charlie had heard everything he'd said. With a softly mumbled 'thank you' Charlie had fallen silent and his body had grown heavier in his arms before Don had finished speaking.

It was a long night. The rain eased to an eventual stop only a few hours before dawn and the chill stayed with them all night. Feeling bad about it but knowing the necessity, Don had awakened Charlie several times. The first time Charlie had refused to waken to the point where it had scared Don, but after that each time had been progressively easier.

He knew his younger brother still needed the rest and it would be best for Charlie to stay where they were but they were not safe. At some point it was going to occur to Simmons that only two witnesses on the planet knew what had happened on the flight and were aware of the fact that he'd escaped. Don knew it was likely only the shock and chaos of the moment that had stopped the man from killing them both after the crash. If he wanted to stay free then Simmons was going to have to come after them and finish the job. Don was determined not to give him the chance.

"Charlie?"

Charlie moaned but didn't waken and Don tried again, adding a slight shake to his shoulder. "Come on, Charlie, time to get up."

"Don?" The injured man squinted his eyes shut against the morning light and raised a hand to his pounding head.

"That bad?" Don asked.

Charlie started to nod then apparently thought better of it. "Yeah, feels like my head's split in two."

"Not quite, but it was a hard hit. I'm not surprised you feel rotten, but we really have to get moving, Buddy."

Don helped Charlie to his feet and, once Don was sure the other man was able to stand on his own, the pair began to move away from the fallen tree that had provided them a pitiful amount of shelter the night before.

"Don, shouldn't we stay with the downed plane? Statistically we'd have a better chance of surviving and being found if we stay close to the crash site."

"Normally yes, Buddy, but we don't have that choice. We've got to get out of this area and fast. Simmons is going to come looking for us and if we stay here he'll find us long before the rescuers do."

"Oh, I forgot about him," Charlie muttered.

Don felt a little concern at the comment. Charlie might not have the best social skills but when it came to analysing situations, and as a mathematician, the other man was actually extremely observant. It came from working with the exacting detail of numbers all the time. Don guessed this absentmindedness about what was an essentially an extremely important variable had more to do with Charlie's physiology rather than his psychology. There was no doubt the young genius was still suffering the effect of the blow he received to the head during the crash. Don was going to have to keep a close eye on his brother.

They set off through the early morning forest, the quietness of the night still surrounding them. The rain that had fallen the night before had left the heavy scent of wet soil in the air and the weak sunlight of the new day filtering through the trees gave the woods a fairy-tale appearance. If it weren't for the fact that his brother was hurt and they were out here with a desperate, armed man Don would have thought it pleasant. He remembered his comments from the night before, and even if they'd had marshmallows this was definitely not like a camping trip.

--


	2. Chapter 2

They had been walking for hours, but to Charlie it felt like weeks. He knew that wasn't possible; from the angle of light on the ground the sun hadn't even reached its zenith so they couldn't have been walking for more than four hours. Charlie followed Don down a slight slope and reached out to a tree for support on the way, but the tree wasn't where he thought it was and his hand swept past it and missed the needed support. Overbalancing, he couldn't stop himself from falling.

He hit the ground hard enough to take the wind out of him and rolled several times before coming to a stop face up in the underbrush. In an instant Don's face hovered above him; unfortunately, there was more than one of them and they blended and split in a disconcerting and nauseating way. Charlie had to close his eyes against the view.

"Charlie? Charlie, are you okay?"

Charlie knew Don wasn't yelling but his voice sounded so loud that it hurt. He couldn't remember ever feeling this sick; not even his one experiment with a hangover had left him feeling this bad. Charlie knew with absolute certainty that if he moved his body in the slightest, even to open his eyes, he would throw up.

"Charlie… Answer me!" Don really was yelling at him now and he could hear the fear in his brother's voice. Don shook his shoulders and that was all it took to push him over the edge. Charlie rolled himself onto his side and heaved violently. The convulsions kept coming long after Charlie had emptied his stomach. Through it all Don held his shoulder and, rubbing his back with a warm hand, spoke soft encouraging words to him. Charlie's focus was not on his brother so he missed the actual words said but he appreciated the comfort and support more than he could express. At last it was over and Don pulled him up into an embrace.

Charlie knew Don wanted them to keep moving, but, although he hated letting his brother down, he knew he just couldn't do it.

"I'm sorry, Don," he said, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.

"Hey, don't be. I'm sorry, Buddy, I was pushing too hard."

Charlie wanted to argue that Don hadn't done anything wrong but just couldn't; it took too much energy and he was far too comfortable in Don's arms to expend the effort. Usually close contact made Charlie feel vaguely uncomfortable but at the moment he wanted nothing more than to stay where he was for a while.

Don watched as his little brother slipped into unconsciousness. He'd seen Charlie trip and stumble a number of times, and for the last half hour had been planning to call a rest break but just hadn't done so. The thought of Simmons, the gun and his nearly defenceless brother had kept Don pushing them forward at as fast a pace as the injured man could manage. The moment he'd seen Charlie lose his balance and fall, Don knew it had been his fault. Charlie had followed him without complaint, trying his best to keep up even though the trek had been hard on him. Some part of Don's mind had rationalised that if Charlie wasn't complaining or asking to stop then he was all right. Obviously that wasn't the case.

A slight movement through the trees below them caught Don's eye, and he sank lower under the camouflaging underbrush, pulling Charlie with him. He hoped that whatever it was down there was something safe… like a bear. He caught another glimpse of movement and swore. It was Simmons. At least with a bear Don's gun would have been something of an advantage but Simmons was armed as well and a lot more mobile than the Eppes brothers.

Simmons looked up, scanning the hillside, and Don held his breath as the other looked their way. Apparently he didn't see anything and his gaze swept lower. _He's looking for us_, Don thought. It occurred to him that if Charlie hadn't collapsed when he did they would have been at the bottom of the hill and a lot closer to the gunman. Simmons began to move off and Don watched until he was out of view with no intention of moving even if he could. It was a game of cat and mouse. Unfortunately, he and Charlie were the mice.

Charlie slept for almost three hours. Don's left leg, where much of his brother's weight rested, had long since gone numb but he didn't want to move it and risk disturbing the other. Eventually the younger man began to show signs of waking and Don shifted his grip to allow his leg a little relief.

"Don?"

"Hey there, Buddy. How are you feeling?"

Charlie tried to push himself up into a sitting position but needed Don's help to manage the feat.

"Better. I'm sorry, Don."

"I told you it wasn't your fault, Charlie. You're injured. We… I should have been going slower. Do you think you can walk a little further? We need to find some shelter for the night."

Don decided he wouldn't mention his sighting of Simmons just yet. Charlie needed to focus on recovering and worrying about Simmons wouldn't help.

Charlie nodded and Don helped him to his feet. This time the older brother kept a supportive arm around the younger and helped him negotiate the slope. Once at the bottom Don turned them in the opposite direction from the one he'd last seen Simmons heading. Not even fifteen minutes later a heavily breathing Charlie begged for a rest. Don didn't really want to but was more loath to risk Charlie collapsing again and lowered him carefully to the ground. He stood guard until Charlie caught his breath.

"Don, do you hear that?" Charlie asked.

The question sent Don into a heightened alertness. He'd been listening hard for any sign that Simmons was close by but hadn't heard anything above the normal forest sounds. "No, what?"

"I think I hear water."

He was right, Don realised. Now that Charlie had mentioned it he could hear the distinctive sound of water, a lot of it, rushing over rocks in the distance somewhere below them.

"Thirsty?" Don asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," Charlie said with feeling.

Again taking his brother's weight Don led them toward the sound of water, his eyes continuously scanning their surroundings looking for anything out of place.

The tree line abruptly ended, suddenly turning into a rocky bank taking Don a little by surprise. The water they heard turned out to be a wide, fast flowing river bordered by large and small roughly angled grey boulders. It was a wild and picturesque scene.

"This is wonderful," Charlie muttered, obviously enjoying the view as well.

Don thought through the logistics of how to get his unsteady and weak companion to the water without further injuring him and finally decided that he would have to have Charlie go first so that he could watch and support him. Slowly and working together they made it. Charlie all but threw himself into the water and drank deeply. Don drank more reservedly, acutely aware of their highly exposed position.

Once their thirst was sated, Don moved them back into the relative protection of a set of larger rocks. The formation created a sort of shallow cave with a large overhanging rock supported by smaller stones to each side. It wasn't large, barely offering Don enough headroom to sit upright but it was the best they were likely to find. Charlie sat with a relieved sigh and leaned back.

Being as gentle as he could, he unwound the makeshift bandage from Charlie's head. The lump of swelling under the gash looked to have gotten larger and that worried him. Taking the cloths down to the water Don rinsed them thoroughly then used the damp material to clean the wound. Charlie moaned and gasped a couple of times as he cleaned close to the cut but otherwise endured the ministrations in silence. After cleaning the bandages again Don reapplied them.

"Too tight?" Don asked once he'd finished.

"No, it's fine…. Don, I'm not getting better."

Don shifted uncomfortably. "Of course you are. You just need a little rest, that's all."

Charlie smiled. "You're a better liar than me, Don, but you're not that good. I feel a lot worse, my balance is way off and my vision is getting… strange."

"Strange in what way?"

Charlie shrugged tiredly. "I see flashes of colour and light that aren't there, everything's blurry and appearing in multiples. I can barely tell what's real any more."

Don swallowed hard. He sat in the space beside Charlie and let the other rest against him, Charlie's body was hot. Far warmer than the cool mountain air should have made it and an uncomfortably familiar feeling of dread stirred. The last time he'd felt like this was while watching his mother struggle for life. Don wasn't sure he could go through it again with Charlie. Not when he was only just beginning to get to really know the guy. They were a long way from help and one of the people he cared about most in the world was slowly slipping away.

"I always thought dying would be more painful," Charlie remarked. "But all I have is a headache, and that's not even bad any more."

The feverish flush under the bruises on his face and the obvious pain in his dark eyes belied his words. With a jolt of surprise Don realised his brother was trying to make him feel better. Putting his arm comfortably around the thin shoulders and tucking the overly warm head in against his shoulder Don smiled fondly.

"You're not going to die. Now, just shut up and get some rest. You'll be better tomorrow and we have a lot of walking to do."

Disturbingly quickly Charlie lapsed into unconsciousness again leaving Don alone. He watched the afternoon light slowly fade as yet another night in the wilderness closed in around them. At least the temperature was warmer and the rain of the previous evening showed no sign of returning, but Charlie still wasn't well and was growing steadily sicker.

Several times during the night Don made his way down to the water's edge and, dampening the remains of his shirt, made cold compresses to battle Charlie's growing fever. Through the worst of it Don could do little more than hold tight to the sweating, heaving and twisting body in his arms while quietly repeating assurances that everything was going to be all right. He didn't know if Charlie had heard his words or understood them but the other man had seemed to respond to his voice, becoming calmer and more settled every time he spoke so Don had continued a calm litany all through the night.

By the time the first light of dawn reached them the fever seemed to have stabilized and Charlie's anguished moans and mumbles of the night before had faded to silence. Don was exhausted in both mind and body and only the fact that Charlie had made it through to see another day kept him sane. In the soft light, his brother's face looked peaceful. Don rested his palm against his brother's forehead and judged that the fever really was easing.

Keeping his eyes on the sky looking for any sign of a search plane and the rest of his attention on their surroundings so Simmons would not surprise them, Don waited for Charlie to wake up. They would not be moving today. Charlie was too weak and sick to attempt it, and Don worried that another day like yesterday would kill the younger man. The near rhythmic sound of the river soothed him and he allowed his body to relax.

Don woke. He hadn't even realised that he'd allowed himself to fall asleep but from the full brightness of the day it was obvious he'd slept for several hours.

"Feel better?" Charlie asked.

Don looked over at him and smiled at seeing the fever seemed to be almost gone from his eyes, but he confirmed it with his palm anyway.

"Yeah, rough night. How do you feel?"

"I'm better than yesterday."

Don frowned at the non-answer. "…But not better, right?"

Charlie shrugged. "I'm fine, Don. We should probably stay close to the river. Which way do you want to go, upstream or down?"

Don shook his head. "Neither. We're not travelling today. We'll rest here and make an early start tomorrow."

"What about Simmons? I thought you said he would be looking for us and we had to keep moving," Charlie asked, confusion thick in his voice.

"I know what I said, but now I'm saying we stay and rest."

Charlie was quiet for a long minute. "It's because of me. You think I'll collapse again. I won't, Don, I can make it."

"Buddy, you just spent the night locked in a high fever. You may feel okay now but you're concussed and hurt. Your body can't take another day like yesterday."

"Then you should leave me here and go on yourself. You could bring back help."

"We're not splitting up."

"But, Don, you have, statistically, a much better…"

"I said no, Charlie."

"I could just…"

"Charlie! Will you just stop? I'm not leaving you here. Got that? It's just not happening."

Charlie opened his mouth as though to argue but Don's glare silenced whatever the unvoiced protest had been. The younger man looked away and hunched his shoulders almost seeming to fold into himself. He looked the picture of misery and Don sighed.

"I'll go down to the river and see if I can find us some food… You'll be all right here?"

Charlie nodded.

Don didn't really think he had a ghost of a chance of finding them anything to eat, but he needed a little time away from Charlie. He knew if it were to ignore emotion and common human decency then Charlie's suggestion made perfect sense, but it just wasn't possible for Don to do that. Charlie was his brother, and he should know better. It angered Don that the younger man thought Don capable of just abandoning him.

To Don's surprise he did manage to find food. Making his way slowly upriver Don was astonished to come across a patch of wild strawberries. He took off his now battered jacket, forming it into a crude carry pouch and quickly filled it with anything that looked edible. He looked at the river but even if there were fish in the fast flowing water there was no way he was going to catch them. He searched for a while longer but could find nothing else and turned back. His foraging mission had been a success on two fronts, he had actually found food, meagre though it was, and his temper had cooled.

He'd only been gone about an hour but he really wanted to get back to his brother. Although there had been no sign of Simmons, Don didn't think the man would give up so soon.

As Don made his way back, careful not to crush the strawberries, he didn't notice the well-concealed, shadowy figure that followed him at a distance.

--

At first Charlie appeared to be asleep. With his eyes closed the man lay balled-up and slumped slightly sideways, his body resting against what looked to be a relatively smooth section of rock; but the moment Don slipped into their makeshift camp the curly head rose from the cradle of his arms. There was surprise and what appeared to be moisture in the younger Eppes' eyes.

"Don… I thought you'd changed your mind," Charlie whispered and rubbed his forehead.

Don sighed, trying not to get angry again. It still irritated him that Charlie would think him able to simply desert him like that, but Don chose to ignore the inference and instead he held up his jacket and the prize it held.

"I found lunch."

Charlie smiled softly. "Just like you said you would."

Don felt a little uncomfortable at the sudden admiration in his brother's eyes. "It's not much, but you like strawberries, right?"

Charlie's smile widened into a grin. Don knew perfectly well that his brother adored strawberries; as a child it was the only flavour ice-cream he'd eat. Charlie rubbed at his head again and Don frowned.

"How's your head?"

Self-consciously Charlie dropped his hand away from his brow. "I'm fine."

Don nodded, not believing it for a second. "Sure you are. How about we go down to the river and take a look at it after we eat?"

It didn't take long to consume the fruit; there really weren't enough of them to be a real meal for one man, let alone two. If Don had had any doubt that Charlie's head was bothering him more than he was saying it was put to rest when using a simple sleight of hand he was able to slip his mathematical genius brother a far larger share without it being noticed.

Once they were finished Charlie showed every intention of curling back up for another rest.

"Come on, it's time to take a look at that head of yours," Don said climbing to his feet.

The injured man looked anything but thrilled by the idea but he knew Charlie would give in. Don would have liked to let him rest but first he really wanted to get a good look at the wound. They were probably several days away from help, so he knew it was important they try to keep it as clean as possible. With a resigned sigh Charlie allowed Don to help him to his feet, and together they made their way down to the water.

Don helped Charlie negotiate his way over the larger rocks and across the uneven ground until they reached the water's edge. Charlie sat on a handily high outcrop with a tired sigh. Being as careful as he could and wincing in sympathy to Charlie's hissed-breath as he peeled the bandage free of the drying blood, Don took the soiled bandage off. Parting the hair over the site he examined the wound with a critical eye. Even though the skin around the edges looked red and a little swollen the injury actually looked better than it had before. At least it wasn't bleeding any more. Don looked to see how Charlie was doing. His face was several shades too pale and looked slightly grey.

Don rested his hand against his brother's forehead. Despite looking unwell Charlie smiled at the act. "This is like the time I was twelve and came off my bike, remember?"

"Came off your bike, Charlie? As I remember it you were fooling around, got flipped and fell down a thirty foot embankment. I just about killed myself getting down there to check on you. I wasn't sure if I was going to help you, kill you myself or drag you home to let Dad do it, but then I saw your broken leg."

Charlie huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, but you still tried to drag me back up the hill by yourself."

"Hey, I managed to get you more than half way, before I had to leave to get help. I probably would have got you all the way to the top if you'd just left your book bag behind," Don protested.

"I was worried we wouldn't be able to go back for it. I had a borrowed book in that bag, all about unsolvable problems. That was where I first learned about P vs. NP," Charlie reminisced fondly.

"If I'd known that I would definitely have made you leave it."

"Don, I would have discovered P vs. NP somewhere else, or I would have found some other problem to immerse myself into."

It was as close as Charlie had ever come to admitting, at least to him, that P vs. NP was a way of running from his problems, and Don felt a rare moment of understanding and connection with his brother. Don knew he had his own, more direct, but just as destructive methods of running and hiding when he couldn't handle a problem.

"Besides," Charlie continued, "having my books gave me something to do while I waited for you to get back."

"It seemed to take forever to get back to you. I kept imagining terrible things like you falling again."

"Is that why you won't leave me now, Don? Because of what happened when we were kids? We're not kids any more."

"Not this again, Charlie! I told you I wasn't leaving and I meant it. That's probably your most annoying trait, you know? Once you've got something stuck in your head you never let it go."

"Not when I know I'm right. Don, it just doesn't make any sense for both of us to be stuck out here. If you left there'd be a far greater likelihood of our overall collective survival."

"Hey, back up a second, overall collective survival? That's the average of our individual probabilities, right? Are you trying to snow me? What about our actual, individual survival probabilities, Charlie? Don't tell me, let me guess. I live and you die, right?"

"Don, you're staying here means we both die. It doesn't make sense. You should go, while you still can."

"Too late. You should have listened to him, Don, you might have made it. Now, you're both dead."

The brothers turned toward the unexpected voice. Not far away Simmons stood, the gun in his good hand pointing at them. The other arm was in a rough sling and his face was covered in cuts and bruises.

Simmons gestured to Charlie. "Get up, slowly."

Charlie did as he was told, careful to keep his hands away from his sides.

"Both of you drop your weapons, one at a time," Simmons instructed them.

Charlie heard Don's quiet oath as he slowly un-holstered his weapon and tossed it only a very short distance away.

Simmons glared at Don in response to the half-hearted throw. "Cute. Now you," he said shifting his aim to Charlie.

"I… I don't have a gun," Charlie said, unable to draw his attention away from the barrel of the weapon pointed at him. Simmons raised his weapon, the threat clear and Charlie shook with fear. It was obvious Simmons didn't believe him and he could see the resolve to fire in the other man's eyes.

"Don't! He's telling you the truth. He's unarmed!" Don's interruption diverted the gunman's attention in those critical moments, neutralizing the situation.

Simmons gave Don an evaluating look and finally lowered his weapon a fraction.

"You I get," he said nodding toward Don. "You've got the stench of government all over you. No mistaking it, you're a fed to the bone, a trained, mindless machine in the shape of a man. You make me sick. I've spent my life trying to protect people from the likes of you and because of that I've been persecuted. I know what you are. But you…" Simmons waved his weapon toward Charlie. "Who and what are you?"

Charlie was mesmerised by the movement of the weapon. "I'm… I'm…" Charlie stuttered, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. He shook his head.

The discharge of the handgun was deafening at such a close range, and Charlie recoiled in automatic reaction, stumbling over the uneven footing and falling backward to the ground.

"Don!" Charlie cried out in terror. Even as he'd fallen he realised he hadn't been shot and was terrified that it meant his brother had.

"I'm all right, Charlie, are you hit?" Don asked tightly.

Don still stood where he was but there was new tension in his stance.

Charlie sighed in relief.

"Get up!" Simmons yelled.

Charlie got to his feet as quickly as he could and raised his shaking hands. Simmons stared at him. "You're either not an agent or a hell of a good actor. Who are you?"

"Charlie, Charlie Eppes. I'm a mathematician… I teach math at Cal Sci."

"Don't lie to me." Simmons steadied the gun at Charlie again and his finger tightened on the trigger. "If you lie to me again I'll make you beg for me to kill you."

Charlie shook his head, not knowing what was the safe thing to say or what would be the wrong thing to say and get him killed.

"Please, it's the truth."

Simmons' face turned red from his rage and Charlie looked toward Don, expecting to feel the impact of a bullet at any moment. Don caught his gaze and Charlie felt a measure of calm from the strength he saw there. Whatever happened he wasn't alone.

Don looked to Charlie, but addressed himself to Simmons. "He's not lying. He's about as civilian as you can get, and he can prove it. Charlie, do you still have your wallet on you?"

"Um, yeah, I think so." He remembered slipping the wallet into his pocket before the flight in what now seemed a lifetime ago.

"Take it out slowly, Charlie," Don instructed.

The mathematician did as he was told and, opening it, held it out to Simmons. The man approached warily and Charlie felt tremors run through him as the gun came closer. The hand holding out the wallet shook so hard Charlie wasn't sure Simmons would be able to read his Cal Sci faculty identification card.

"You okay, Charlie?" Don asked.

Charlie nodded.

Simmons stepped back a little and then looked up at the mathematician in surprise.

The weapon lowered slightly. "You're a teacher? What were you doing on a government plane with him?"

"He's my brother."

Simmons shook his head. "And because you have a shared childhood you think he gives a damn about you?"

"I know he does."

"You're wrong. He's a machine. Whatever was once human in him the government has sucked dry. I know! They tried to do it to me, but I fought them. He's not your brother any more. If they ordered him to kill you, he'd do it in a heartbeat."

"No. Don would never hurt me."

"You're a fool." The gun came back up.

"Let him go, Simmons," Don said, taking a step forward. "You claim to have made it your life's work to protect civilians. If you kill Charlie, everything you claim will be a lie."

Simmons considered Don's words for a long moment. "That may be true, but you I can kill."

The gun moved to aim at Don's chest and there was no doubt he was going to fire. Charlie shouted a panicked "No!" and launched himself at his brother.

Simmons fired.

Don felt Charlie's body slam into his only a moment before the sharp report of the shot. It was a harder hit than Don would have credited the smaller and injured man of making. They fell together in a tangle of limbs, Don desperately trying to take as much of the impact with the ground as he could.

They fell apart as they thumped to the rocky ground, Don rolling forward a little so Charlie would be behind him. His weapon was within easy reach and Don reached for it. In a single smooth motion he'd grabbed the weapon and rolled up, coming into a firing position, the safety off. Simmons fired again while Don moved and he felt the fiery kiss of heat as the bullet passed close by his cheek, and heard the sound of the slug ricocheting from the rocks. Then he fired.

Simmons crumpled, dead before his body hit the ground.

Don relaxed. He knew his aim had been true, but his training forced him check his target. Getting to his feet, he kept his weapon trained on Simmons' still form until he reached down to confirm the man really was dead. Only then did he reengage the safety and put his gun back into the holster where it belonged. Don recovered Simmons's weapon then turned to check on his brother.

Charlie lay on his side, eyes wide and frightened as they watched Don.

"It's okay now, Charlie, it's over. You can get up."

Charlie grimaced and shook his head slightly. "I don't think I can."

Something about the way Charlie lay and the weakness of his voice worried Don. "Charlie? You okay, buddy?"

"Not really."

Don ran back to him and checked him. Fresh blood soaked the back of Charlie's shirt, the sight of it almost stopping Don's heart. Trying not to jostle him Don moved Charlie so he could get a better look at the new wound. A messy but not too deep gash showing signs of burnt edges cut a path across part of his back and shoulder. But to Don's profound relief the bullet seemed not to have hit anything vital. The wound was obviously painful but not life threatening.

"It's all right, Charlie, it's just a graze. You'll be fine."

Charlie groaned. "This is what a graze feels like?"

Don sympathetically patted Charlie's good shoulder. "Well, it's a pretty decent graze."

"Oh man, I really want to go home, now."

--

Don wasn't really sure how it was that Charlie had ended up winning the argument about resting vs. moving on but as he helped the other man negotiate his way over yet another obstacle too hard for his injuries he decided it didn't really matter. As long as they stuck together Don had a sense that they would be all right. Charlie was tougher than he looked, and although they weren't moving fast, they were moving. They had stayed by the river which was presently a wide, flat, pebble-strewn, and gently flowing waterway.

Suddenly Charlie stopped. A moment later Don heard him laugh.

"What's funny?"

Charlie shook his head. "Not funny, fantastic. Look!" Charlie pointed to a nearby boulder. On it was a single yellow rectangle.

Don shook his head. It was obvious that at some point a human being had been there before them, one carrying a can of yellow paint, but Don couldn't see what had Charlie so excited.

"So someone painted a rock."

"Don, this is a trail blaze." Charlie pointed off into the trees bordering the river. "It's telling us there is a trail out of here that way."

Don frowned at the trees; they looked no more inviting where Charlie pointed than they did anywhere else. "You're sure?"

"Ten years hiking with Larry sure. Trust me, Don."

Don nodded. "I do."

With mild surprise Don realised that it was true. He did trust his brother, and not just when it came to mathematics. Charlie had been right they weren't kids any more. Those had been hard years for them both. He'd always been a little confused about his feelings for his brother back then, but things had changed. He still didn't fully understand what motivated Charlie but he had finally realised he didn't have to understand him to trust him.

Don smiled at his brother, feeling a deeper sense of kinship. "A trail, huh? What say, when we get out of this we plan a real camping trip… somewhere a little less remote?"

Charlie smiled. "I'll bring marshmallows."

Finita.


End file.
